


Brother, We're A Long Ways From Home

by orphan_account



Series: A Long Way From Home [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Awkward Revelations, Canon Divergence S04E08 Too Far Gone, Cured Survivors, Dimension Travel, Gen, Lost but BAMF Grimes-Dixon Children, M/M, Post Series ABO AU Meets Season 4 Canon, Stumbling Into Another Dimension Like Growing Up In The Zombie Apocalypse Was Not Shitty Enough, Time Travel, Timey Wimey Alternate Reality Portal Thingy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The man pushes himself away from the side of the jeep and walks forward, lowering his gun by his hip. Rick stares, not quite able to wrap his mind around what he’s seeing, still reeling though pleasantly shocked by the Governor’s abrupt demise. The familiar face looks Rick straight in the eye, sending him a nod that Rick is quick to read as I got this. He replies with a nod of his own like he does Daryl countless times before that Rick is held speechless by the seamless exchange.“What?” That familiar southern drawl, though a pitch higher and younger than what Rick expects to hear jolts him, realization punching him in the face as to why he looks so goddamn familiar. Rick's mouth drops a fraction, not understanding why Daryl’s face is amongst the crowd of nameless faces that had come to take their home by force. “I dunno what the hell tha’ clown think he was doing, but I ain’t watching no old man get his head lopped off when them folks'r offerin’ us a place ta stay.”





	1. Right Between The Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what happens when I finally got around to watching The Boondock Saints and obsessing over the idea of twins, coupled that with reading Alpha/Beta/Omega Rickyl Fics and a disappointing lack of Time Travel ones and having quite the vendetta over the damn Governor. Unbeta'd so mistakes are all my own.

“Everyone who's alive right now. Everyone who's made it this far. We've all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive.”  
  
Because Rick sure as hell has, burdened by the memory of bad decisions that continues to keep him up night. But he was getting better. _They_ were getting better. They finally have something good here despite the sickness that lessened their numbers, and Rick is terrified that all that they’ve worked for, all the sacrifices made, the lives lost as they desperately tried to save the rest would have all been for nothing due to one man’s sick vendetta.

To accept being driven away from their home or die if they refuse is no choice at all.

But these people, he can see that their hearts are not in it, confusion flashing on their faces when Rick made mention of the Governor’s previous allies now within their ranks. He recalls Karen telling the ex-Woodbury citizens of what the Governor had done to his own people, how she'd made sure they understood that it was Rick and his family who saved her, the same ones they'd been convinced were the worst kind that needed to be put down. 

Rick knows it in his aching bones that that smug sonofabitch managed to weave the same convincing tale again, amping up the charm and masquerading his lies as honest-to-god good intentions on this ragtag group of survivors as they brace to destroy all that Rick and his family had slaved over for.  
  
“But we can still come back.” The former deputy continues, gruff voice well past pleading and straight to bargaining, imploring eyes trying to meet each and every one’s gaze before darting to Michonne’s sword by Hershel’s neck, desperate to make them _see_ that this doesn’t have to end in blood.  
  
He catches sight of Hershel’s barely there smile, warm fatherly gaze speaking volumes through his silence and Rick’s eyes suddenly sting with tears, fighting off a choked sob because even with a goddamn sword on him, Hershel still manages to look proud of Rick’s attempts for peace. Maggie and Beth are watching this and Rick feels struck, weak in the knees as he pictures losing the man that has been like a father to everyone. 

He has to make this work. He _can’t_ not make this work.  
  
”We're not too far gone. We get to come back. I know,” Rick despairingly chases the Governor’s one good eye, begging him to please just listen. “We all can _change_.”  
  
Their would be attackers begin to slowly lower their weapons, indecision in their stance while the Governor himself slowly lifts the katana away from Hershel, and for one heart-stopping moment, Rick allows himself to breathe, to believe that things could work out.  
  
_Liar._  
  
One word spoken out of spite and the Governor crushes all hope Rick might have had. Rick can’t do nothing but watch with wide, terrified eyes, an agonized sound crawling it’s way up his throat as the blade that threatens Hershel’s life makes a downward stroke for the nearest vulnerable flesh and _nonononono, please, no, don't!_

The Governor’s head suddenly explodes in a spray of blood and brain matter, katana slipping from his grasp before he falls to the ground. Rick watches in muted disbelief. The sound of the gun going off was too close to have been done by any of his people.   
  
Rick's gaze hurriedly spins towards Hershel in a heartbeat, feeling immeasurable relief wash over his body to see him unharmed even when Rick's tense muscles remain poised for a fight. Rick quickly averts his attention back to their attackers, ready to search for signs of renewed hostility after witnessing their leader fall, only to be taken aback when not a single one of them is looking at him, gazes and weapons trained, though they're quick to lower down, towards someone at the back of the group.

The stranger is partly hidden by the red jeep's side mirror, but he can see the gun Rick swears looks to be the same one he carries, still smoking in an outstretched hand, leaving no room for questions as to who fired the shot that saved Hershel's life.  
  
The man pushes himself away from the side of the jeep and walks forward, lowering his gun by his hip. Rick stares, not quite able to wrap his mind around what he’s seeing, still reeling though pleasantly shocked by the Governor’s abrupt demise. The familiar face looks Rick straight in the eye, sending him a nod that Rick is quick to read as _I got this._ He replies with a nod of his own like he does Daryl countless times before that Rick is held speechless by the seamless exchange.  
  
“What?” That familiar southern drawl, though a pitch higher and younger than what Rick expects to hear jolts him, realization punching him in the face as to why he looks so goddamn familiar. Rick's mouth drops a fraction, not understanding why Daryl’s face is amongst the crowd of nameless faces that had come to take their home by force. “I dunno what the hell tha’ clown think he was doing, but I ain’t watching no old man get his head lopped off when them folks'r offerin’ us a place ta stay.”  
  
It can't be Daryl. Of course it can't be Daryl. The archer is up there by the prison’s inner fence covering him.

A figure comes running out from one of the vehicles towards the young man, _Jesus, he looks no older than twenty-five_ , and suddenly he's got his arms full of her sobbing form, clear as the Georgia sky that she did not want to be there. She's readily comforted, the man showing no signs that he has any problem with physical contact like Daryl does. She's crying, thanking every higher power that he's alive as he shifts his gaze to the asshole in the tank, berating him for pulling the macho bravado on Rick. The ex-cop realizes next how most of the survivors are looking to him with relieved smiles on their faces and what looks to be hope flashing in their eyes.

It is then Rick that knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s looking at their leader even before a chorus of _‘Dylan. Oh thank god!’_ erupts from the group.

Dylan, good to have a name to the face, gently pries the sobbing woman from his chest and signals at the female up front to take her before rounding on the army guy who's trying to justify his actions, and failing. “I don’t fuckin’ care what that asshole said, Mitch. I listened to the whole damn thing. He had no business bringin’ y’all out here, no care at all that y’all could be walker food wit’ all this damn noise.”  
  
Rick gapes. All things considered, it’s the last thing he should be surprised about but hearing someone not belonging to their group calling those things walkers somehow feels surreal.  
  
He manages to close his mouth and makes quick assessment of the newcomer. Despite looking a dead ringer for Daryl at first glance, Rick sees a few small differences aside from the obvious age. Whereas Daryl’s hair is a darker shade of brown, his is a short dirty blond that looks somewhat styled, a much neater version of Daryl's own had been the first time they crossed paths, his eyes too wide and too blue to belong to the archer, with too full lips. Rick's seen himself enough times in the mirror that he'd almost say the young man has the shape of his mouth. He's got none of Daryl's bulk, but he's lithe, wiry and there's obvious strength in the slope of his shoulders and the toned muscle of his arms. He's young, but there's something in the way he carries himself that speaks of experience, like he's seen a lot of crap in his life and learned to roll with the punches.

The biggest difference of all, instead of a crossbow, he's got twin sheathed swords strapped flush across his back, causing Rick to be on the defensive, hackles rising with those type of weapons being near Hershel, even when they're not drawn.  
  
“He was helping us find a home, Dylan. You’ve been away for five days. Tried looking for you but you were just gone man. We thought you were dead.”  
  
“I left Martinez in charge.”  
  
“He’s dead. He got drunk and fell into one of the pits.”  
  
"An' what about Pete? Doubt that softie would'a allowed this nonsense."

Rick doesn’t miss the pained expression on the man, Mitch’s face when asked about this Pete fella, head turning minutely towards the Governor’s fallen form like he can’t help himself. He’s a terrible liar, giving off obvious tells, Rick notices. He can see that Dylan makes the same swift connection and cusses up a storm under his breath.

“Riley’s gon’ flip her lid. She’s gon’ rain pain on yer ass, man.”  
  
“It wasn’t my fault. He would have killed me too.” Mitch shoots back angrily, only to simmer down in the next breath. "Where is she?"  
  
"Prolly at camp. We came across an older lady. Got separated an' I was trekkin' back when I saw ya down the road lined up like'a damn parade and I hopped on'a back of one'o our vehicles."  
  
"What happened?" a voice in the group queries.  
  
"There was a herd." He waves a dismissive hand. "Ya know how fast things go south with 'em walkers in numbers."  
  
"You can't pick up every last person you find on the road, Dylan." Mitch gripes like a dog with a bone to pick.  
  
"Don't Dylan me. I never been wrong 'bout a person before. Leo, Becca, Jorge put those walkers down! You on'a other hand picked up that asshole," He points to the dead guy at his feet with his gun, making a point.  
  
"That was on Martinez. He vouched for the guy."

Dylan's eyes narrow and he turns the corpse over with his foot, picking up Michonne's katana from the ground. “He killed Pete, an’ yet ya still went wit’ his crazy? Shit, now that I seen ‘im up close, it's that Governor Martinez said went batshit an’ fired on his own people. Betcha he killed Martinez and fed'im ta them walkers ta shut'im up.

That drew more than a few surprised gasps followed by disgust directed at the Governor’s fallen form, most of them looking a little more than shamefaced for being so willfully blind. Dylan and Mitch exchange a few more heated words and Rick feels hysterical laughter bubble up his throat. He'd gone from utter desperation to hopeful relief in a span of two minutes and now he's watching two men argue like women in the middle of the damn clearing, attracting attention from the undead.  
  
"Jesus Christ, why’s no one helping grandpa up." Dylan says and fear twists Rick's insides for what feels like the hundredth time as he watches the rather mouthy leader bend down to cut Hershel loose with the same katana that nearly ended his life.

Rick sees the surprise in Hershel's eyes the moment he's face to face with the young man as he’s helped to his feet, seeing the uncanny resemblance to Daryl no doubt, but the surprise quickly melts into his usual warm and fatherly expression.  
  
"Thank you, my boy." Hershel says gratefully and gets a gentle squeeze on the arm as a reply.  
  
"Sorry ya had to go through that gramps." Dylan apologizes and the genuine concern and guilt in his voice, as if he believes it was his failing that nearly had a lot of people killed flushes out any doubt Rick has left of this all being some kind of ruse to get them to let their guards down.

Rick belatedly takes notice that Maggie and Beth had run down the walkway to join him, thin, bony fingers clutching at the chain-linked fence next to Rick's own, chanting and calling out _Daddy you're gonna be okay_ as they fight off relieved cries.  
  
"Daryl." Beth gasps when she sees the young man make a turn towards their spot. He's done talking with Michonne and has cut her loose as well, handing her the katana handle first, not afraid to first show signs of trust. Rick can't help think it's stupid, short of baring your throat to a walker but thinks all the same they could use a bit more of that stupid optimism.  
  
"It's not Daryl, Beth."  
  
"Course." She says, wiping away tears. "I knew that."  
  
"What's going on, Rick?" Maggie shakily asks through her own tears, blurry-gaze fixed on her Daddy like a hawk.  
  
"I can't say for sure we can trust them yet, but these people listens to him." He gestures to the young man resembling his archer. "The Governor was a new addition, killed some of their own then took control from the sound of it and fed them lies. They know that now. And that guy... Dylan, I think he's their leader. He shot the Governor, saved your father."  
  
"Hey, you sir. What's yer name?" Dylan calls out before Maggie can say anything.  
  
"Rick Grimes." Rick answers, a frown creasing his forehead when he sees the man visibly try to keep a smiling exterior. There's something suddenly profoundly sad in his gaze.  
  
"Dylan Gri-ham. Graham." He clears his throat and tilts his head as he gestures to his people, then at Rick. "If y'all would be so kind ta open up yer doors for my family 'fore we get overrun by them walkers, I'd greatly appreciate it."  
  
"Let them in, son." Hershel says, actively vouching for his kidnappers.

He knows Rick's all too well ingrained distrust in letting new people in, always questioning their motives, three questions that he always had to ask before even entertaining the idea of letting anyone join. And after what these people almost did, sans Dylan, Rick still has reservations. He looks to Michonne and accepts her nod of approval, though there's promise in her eyes that she's going to be keeping an eye out for any possible hostile takeover and end it before it begins.  
  
He forces himself to go against his instincts and holds up his hand, signaling at his people up and behind him that it's safe, or as safe as they can be with walkers lumbering around.  
  
"I go by what I said. The offer still stands. You are all welcome here. You walk inside and through those doors, you're one of us." Rick meets Dylan's gaze, mutual understanding passing between them.  
  
Dylan turns around and addressess his people jovially. "Alright! We’re going in. Everybody get in the vehicles and line up." He glances at Michonne next, an almost playful smirk curling up the corners of his mouth as if he's been dealing with the brooding woman all his life. "Betcha I can kill more walkers than you."  
  
"You have two katanas, _boy_." Michonne shoots back unimpressed even as she has a walker's head flying the second it got close enough for a bite. Dylan expertly shrugs off the attempt at belittling his authority because of his youthful appearance, like he knows Michonne was waiting for a reaction to gauge him with.  
  
“I’m 27 years old, woman. Stopped being a boy a long time ago.” Dylan snorts and calls to one of his people. “Hey, Leo. Gimme your machete.” Rick eyes the rather built young man as he grumbles and sulks like a teenager before he hands over his weapon. “Stop pouting, you’ll get it back later.”  
  
The pout only deepens, before the kid, Leo cracks a grin. "You prevented a blood bath and secured us a safe place to stay. Do what you want and go nuts with yer knives, ya freak."  
  
That startles a laugh from Dylan with Leo looking pleased with himself for making their leader smile. "You say the sweetest things, asshole."  
  
Leo flips him off as he paces toward the rest of the group with a chuckle but not before tossing a few words over his shoulder. "I'm really glad you're alright, D. We all are. And I'm sure Riley's fine. I see you're worried about your sister, but she's tough. Tougher than you even." He teases and goes on his way.  
  
The somber expression that just appeared on Dylan's face lightens at the reassurance. He rotates his shoulders, seemingly shaking off the worry and tosses the machete over at Michonne, one fine eyebrow raised in a challenge. Rick blinks and then they're off, hacking and slicing like it's some damn competition.  
  
Rick surmises that after every last one of their party made it inside, _they have an honest to god tank now, Jesus,_ Michonne has been suitably charmed. Rick would not at all be that surprised if the secret softie decided she wants to adopt Graham.

He’s approached by two of the newcomers, both female, asking where they could bury the Governor. He realizes that one of them is the one in the ponytail that he’d desperately asked if they, if s _he_ could stomach what the Governor was doing but only getting radio silence in return. If Rick was the same man he’d been before, he would have told them to toss his corpse back outside, let the walkers do with him as they please. But he’s no longer that man, tried his damn hardest not to be one anymore.

“We bury our dead and burn the rest. It’s your call. What’s your name?”

“Tara.” The girl answers, looking to be gathering up the courage before speaking out. “Look, I know he turned out to be an asshole. Well, from what I heard, he’s always been that way, but he… helped me and my family. My dad died and he could have gotten me. We didn’t know how to kill those things and he taught us to protect ourselves and I... hate that he had to do that, that he made us do what we almost did, but I can’t just leave him out there.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, least of all to me.” Rick says, glancing down at the Governor’s blood-streaked pale face, before reaching out a hand to rest on the young woman’s shoulder, letting her know that there were no hard feelings. “I believe he was a good man, but somewhere along the line he reached his limit. I almost went down that road myself, when I lost my wife and I thank my group, the ones that’s become my family, every day of my life that they’ve been there for me… supporting me, when I was… working things out. I just wish the Governor saw that with his own people before.”

She tries for a smile which he readily returns. "Thank you."

Rick nods and makes way for her and the tall, thin woman she is with as they carry the Governor’s body to bury or burn, it's entirely up to them. He goes inside the main compound and leans against the wall on the far corner that gives a good view of the going ons within his immediate vicinity.

Rick watches and observes the flurry of activity that has taken over the prison walls despite most of Dylan's people looking like spooked deers caught in the headlights. They're being led by some of their council members mostly consisting of the ex-Woodbury folks as they're instructed where they could stay, what they could do, taking inventory of the supplies and weapons they carried with them.

He watches Dylan approach and go through his people one by one, asking questions and checking on how they're doing, accompanied by friendly pats on shoulders and arms, while the older women are not shy at all of embracing him to their bossoms, Dylan hugging them tightly in return. He hears more than a couple ask what took him so long to come back and he dodges the worried looks with soft reassurances and a story about catching the flu, the _heat_ getting to him in the middle of their run and Riley bullying him to hunker down until the worst of the fever passed.

Now that Rick's seeing him out of the sun, he does look to be a bit peaked. There's a light sheen to his skin that speaks of illness, his lips chapped and eyes tired that keeps squinting every few seconds now that Rick's watching him.

It dawns on Rick that Graham's in pain and doing one helluva job hiding it from everyone as to no doubt keep from alarming his people.  
  
A bit of commotion occurs, but Dylan swiftly puts a stop to the possible misunderstanding before it can get out of hand. Some of his men went on the defensive, agitated and suspicious at being asked to give up their weapons no matter how temporarily, and only a pacifying gesture and calming words from Dylan had them reluctantly handing over their source of protection.  
  
Rick's impressed at the ease with which he’s able to get his people to listen to him, like he’s giving off some kind of pheromones that makes the receiver compliant to his requests. Rick stamps down the ridiculous thought as soon as it comes.

"I ain't likin' this, Rick." Daryl’s deep gravelly voice floats by his ear, the archer's soft breath raising the fine hairs of his nape and sending shivers up Rick's spine. "This many new people in close quarters. Someone's gon' be a problem soon. Some'a these folks look military, heck, there's a tank op'rator."  
  
Rick faces Daryl, a weary sigh escaping him. "I don't like it either but even with the Governor dead, like you said they have a tank and I... I'm tired of losing people, Daryl. We all do. We almost lost Hershel today and who knew who else if it weren’t for him. Graham looks to be capable leading his group. I had'ta take the chance."  
  
"Ya trust him?"  
  
"You didn't see him up close. He... cared, the things he said, how he handled Hershel and Michonne. He shot the Governor."  
  
"Yeah, saw that fucker go down. But Rick, he's just a kid."  
  
"According to him, he's twenty-seven years old." He takes a breath, shakes his head. "Regardless of his age, he's good with people and he can lead. Doesn’t seem to have a problem collaborating either. And I think it's not just him. I keep hearing a name, Riley, his sister. She sounds just as respected as her brother."  
  
Daryl lets out a breath of his own before he nods but it’s clear he’s not sold yet, just as bad as Rick if not more when it comes to trusting newcomers, as he chews on his bottom lip. Rick has to physically tear his gaze away from the distracting view and looks back to the group, only to see Dylan watching them. Rick raises up an amiable hand in the air and gets a wide smile in return.

He sucks in a breath. Jesus, the kid’s like sunshine and roses, obvious pain in the tight lines around his eyes notwithstanding.

Rick resolves to get Hershel to look him over at least once after he's settled his group enough. They've already dealt with the aftermath of the sickness that killed Patrick within their home and they can't afford another person added to the list of the sick, letting him roam free without at least an eye on him in case he drops.

“Don’t be getting any ideas now.” Daryl warns. Rick quickly does a full body turn and looks incredulously at his archer.  
  
“You’re kidding me.” Rick says bluntly because checking Graham out had been the last thing on his mind. "That's stupid thinking, Daryl." he adds and can't help but wince at the glare shot his way.  
  
Daryl doesn’t grace him with an answer and instead hoists up his crossbow over his shoulder and makes to walk away. Rick’s got a hand on his arm before he could stop himself.

The archer may be open to Rick's touches and can even be affectionate in return in the privacy of their cell or the guard tower but it's another thing when he's grabbed without his express say so. This thing, what they have is still very new, half the time Rick doesn’t know what he’s doing but he’s determined to not fuck it up even before he could fully show the archer just how much he means to Rick, that he wants him in his life more than a friend, wants to make this relationship work. Daryl’s already plenty pissed at him for what was done to Carol.

Theirs is a partnership, always has been. It was stupid to banish Carol without consulting Daryl first and he can’t afford to make it worse between them. He withdraws his hand, looking visibly chastised even when Daryl doesn't say anything, his gaze trained on the floor. He can't fault Daryl for being jealous, God knows Rick's got it in spades when it comes to Carol.

In hindsight, maybe that was part of the reason why he'd been so ready to make her leave.

There's a sigh, followed by a murmured apology and only then does Rick look up to meet blue-gray eyes.

“I ain't looking at him _like that_." Rick says. "You know me better than that, Daryl. But you gotta admit, it’s strange seeing him. Our people and his people's been staring.” When no reply is forthcoming, Rick sighs against Daryl’s continued silence. “We good?”  
  
Daryl shifts on his feet, like he’s ready to skedaddle out of there now that Rick's mentioned the curious stares, never been comfortable with eyes on him, but then decides to fuck it. He stays where he is and manages to crack a small smile that without fail makes Rick’s heart flutter in his chest that no amount of Dylan or anyone else, save Carl and Judith’s smiles ever can.

“Yeah." Daryl hums as he reaches for his collar, thumb stroking the skin near his pulse point that has Rick swallowing before the archer pulls back, the exchange too fast and shortlived for anyone to have noticed. Rick just about melts upon seeing the warmth creeping into Daryl's blue eyes. "We’re good.”


	2. Knowing The Neighbors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Daryl's old man never was short of spitting it to his face that it only took one look at his ugly mug and he knew he ain't his.

Growing up, Merle tried in his own way to shield Daryl from the worst of their daddy's blows when he got into one of his nasty benders or simply for breathing the wrong way. That was until Merle had enough of the fucker's shit and turned to drugs, his stoned teenage ass getting dragged to juvie so many times in a calendar year that Daryl lost count. Only to graduate top of his class and went straight to prison for stealing shit anyway so he can feed his addiction.  
  
Fucked up and sad thing was, Daryl couldn't even blame his brother for turning to the only thing that made it possible for him to no longer be in the way of their father's cruel hands. Half the time, Daryl had been convinced Merle'd get high on purpose just so he'd have an excuse to be away from their sorry excuse of a hole no sane person would call a house. It was his means of escape from the pile of stinkin' shit of a life they lived.   
  
Merle turned to the more medicinal kind of recreational activity that dried up his brain while Daryl took to the woods in order to survive. Because damn if his daddy that ain't even his blood would bother putting food on the table for his Ma's bastard in between lashes.  
  
He never bothered looking for the prick that got his Ma pregnant and leaving her like a cheap two dollar whore. Didn't see the point. Far as he's concerned, his real Pa could turn out to be the same kind of sadistic shit or worse, and he's already dealing with one sadistic shit to last a lifetime. He's not about to come looking for more.  
  
Merle's dead and Daryl's made peace of being the last Dixon left in this godforsaken planet. He'd been okay with it. Embraced it even. Family doesn't end in blood, and Rick, Carl and Lil' Asskicker, Carol, Glenn and the Greenes, they've become his family long before he found Merle in Woodbury again.  
  
And Rick. Hell, Daryl still can't quite believe his luck that Rick wanted him back. That he needed him not just as his right-hand man, not just his friend but as his other half, with all the intimacy the relationship entailed.  
  
Most times he still gets this surprised, disbelieving look on his face as Rick often points out, whenever the handsome leader turned farmer initiates saccharine, sweet kisses when they're somewhere private, just the two of them. Shivers violently, like he doesn't know what to do with himself when Rick rakes tentative, turned possessive caresses on Daryl's heated skin while they kiss and rut like horny teenagers in the dark.  
  
Rick is everything that's good and right in the world while Daryl's just this grumpy redneck that's useful with a bow. He can't understand what Rick sees when he looks at Daryl with those warm eyes as blue and beautiful as the Georgia skies or when he captures his lips like he can't get enough of Daryl's taste with that entirely too gorgeous mouth.  
  
But he's grateful as fuck all the same that Rick finds him worth his time. He can't even fully get mad at his lover for banishing Carol. Not when he thought it was the right thing to do. That Rick did what he did to keep his family, his children and Daryl safe.  
  
He'd gotten so used to Rick looking to him for input before coming to any decision, he'd even filled in for Rick in the Council to speak for him when asked as he took to growing beans, that what he'd gone and done, playing judge and jury on Carol all by himself scared him.  
  
It got Daryl thinking of a time when Rick no longer has a use for him, that he'd find someone more capable to have his ear and his heart. Michonne's newfound closeness with Carl makes him fret. Rick's kids need a mother and Michonne seems to already be halfway there.  
  
Even with Rick showing no signs of interest for anyone but Daryl, _and Rick keeps turning interested eyes much to the hunter's irritation,_ Daryl can't still shake off the feeling that one of these days, they'll come across a straggler or a group and Rick will meet some pretty little thing and realize there's really nothing that Daryl can offer and break off whatever insanity they've started with each other.  
  
He's braced himself for the inevitable, prepared his heart and mind to not break and fucking cry like a damn teenage girl when that woman comes along and takes what Daryl thought was his.  
  
He just didn't think that the busty blonde or brunette female, or Michonne herself in all her badass katana-wielding glory, that he's been torturing himself with thoughts of her taking Dary's place in Rick's life would end up as someone that could very well be his brother from another mother.  
  
"Hey, nice bow." Someone says to his right and Daryl looks up at the young man, _pretty boy_ , his mind supplies, seeming to be somewhere Glenn's age squinting at him like he's an insect ready for dissecting.  
  
He grunts and turns back to the task of cleaning his crossbow, keeping one eye trained on Rick and the Dylan kid at his periphery as they talk. For all that Rick claims he no longer is their leader, he always steps up when he's needed.  
  
That Dylan guy's just fucking thriving under Rick's attention, all wide eyes and quick, bright smiles and eager nods and Daryl fucking hates it.  
  
"I'm Gareth by the way. Your name?"

Daryl gives out another grunt and hears the other sigh.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?" The voice pipes up again after a while which he pointedly ignores. "Are you Dylan's older brother?"

There's blissful silence when Daryl still refuses to answer, until there's a sudden low gasp and a hurried, "Wait, you his dad?" leaving the man's mouth.  
  
_That_ has Daryl's head swivelling to the curious face of the newcomer. "What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
Gareth's hands are already up in surrender before Daryl could resort to growling. He squints back at him as he processess what he said and grimaces.  
  
Merle made him do a lot of crazy shit in his teenage years, fucking random girls in bars for one and oh Lord, he really hopes that ain't his kid, looking near identical to Daryl back when he was young and a whole lot of stupid.   
  
Now there's a plenty sobering thought.  
  
"That wasn't a jab at your age or anything. It's just the short time I knew Dylan and Riley, that's his sister, I sometimes overhear them talking about getting back home to their Daddy and Pa. Don't know why they call their father separate like that, and just... I saw your face and then the crossbow and thought that maybe..."  
  
"What's my crossbow hafta do with anythin'?" Daryl grumbles under his breath, gaze flickering to Rick as he reaches out a hand to Dylan's neck and has to grind down the growl threatening to crawl it's way up his throat when those worried eyes and gentle hands are fixed on someone else that ain't a part of their family.  
  
"Well, Riley, she has a crossbow of her own. And damn awesome with it too. She kept us fed with game she hunted in the woods. Her and Dylan. If it weren't for them wandering to our camp a couple of months ago, I think we'd be dead by now, or lumbering around aimlessly like those walkers outside the fence."  
  
Well, ain't he just chatty Kathy, telling him their life story like Daryl cares. Though on second thought, it could only work in their advantage if they knew exactly what they're dealing with here. That Dylan Graham is just too fucking nice to not be hiding anything rotten.  
  
"Yeah? They just came in all guns blazing?"  
  
Gareth laughs, a low, tight and angry sound that speaks of painful memories. "You can say that. Me and my family, we're not originally from around here. Had a camp up north called Terminus. It was stupid what we did. Making it a sanctuary and inviting everyone."  
  
"That's just inviting all the wrong sort'a people." Daryl puts in his two cents. "Dangerous."  
  
The man takes a heavy breath, dark eyes lost in the recollection of whatever hell he'd been in. He chuckles, humorless. "No shit. Attracted the worst kind. It wasn't just us. We put up signs you see. Too fucking trusting. So those other survivors looking for a safe place to stay? They went in and we lead them to their deaths. The women. Our women. They had it the worst."  
  
It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. He recalls what the Governor did to Maggie, imagines sweet Beth being anywhere near those type of scum, and Carl. Daryl promptly feels sick to his stomach.  
  
"You don't hafta say anymore, man. I get it." Daryl says to which the other shakes his head.  
  
"It's okay. I gotta say this. I see the way your people look at us and I understand you have your doubts, and I wouldn't want it any other way, it's hard to trust these days. It's good to be wary, might even save your life, but I'm just saying, Dylan and Riley, they're family. If you have to trust anyone, trust them."  
  
Daryl nods though he's not about to get all chummy with the other group's leader just 'cause one of his own talks about him with a huge case of hero worship.  
  
"They saved us when they could have left us to die in there. We sure weren't their obligation. But they didn't. Burned the place and gunned down the assholes that hurt my Ma and my siblings before dragging us out of that hellhole. Found the rest of the camp. No one knew here how to hunt anything bigger than squirrels and rabbits. But those two, I don't know how they do it, but they always came back hauling deer and on more than one occasion, a wild boar that kept the camp fed. Dylan was a natural in leading, always had something to say that you can't help but agree with. Didn't take long before he got voted as leader. Riley kept quiet and to herself most of the time, always had an eye out. And man let me tell ya, that woman is fiercely protective of her brother."  
  
The hunter _hns_ his reply, filing the information for later and already thinking about the advantages of having two new hunters to provide food for their family, especially once winter rolls in. He can't say nothin' yet about the sister but he grudgingly accepts that the brother looked pretty handy with them katanas that even Michonne looked ready to swoon.

Daryl's so deep in thought that he startles a bit when the guy barks out a laugh. His eyes narrow into slits. "What?"

"I'm sorry, man. It's just, for all that you look like Dylan's long lost brother, you sure act a lot more like Riley." Daryl is about to ask what the hell does that even mean when the man sobers up and looks at him, really looks at him, all intense-like that Daryl can't help but squirm.

"If ya have somethin' ta say, spit it out."  
  
"You know, it's strange."  
  
"What is?" Daryl grumbles.  
  
"Just noticed you got Riley's eyes." Gareth says and turns his head to Rick and Dylan's direction, takes a good long look before shifting his gaze back to Daryl. Daryl blinks at him, looking more than a little lost because what?  
  
"First I saw Mr. Grimes earlier, thought he kinda looked like Riley. Hell, everyone thought he kinda looked like Riley, if she'd been a guy that is, but if one really looks closely, she has your facial expression."  
  
Wait, aren't the Graham siblings supposed to be twins? If anything Daryl was expecting this Riley chick to look like... well, he didn't exactly think that through aside from vaguely resembling Daryl. Probably.   
  
And what the hell is this Gareth getting at?

"Ya got'a point somewhere in that statement?"

"You sure you're not Dylan's dad?" Gareth asks, leaving a loaded silence in its wake.

"Yeah." Daryl replies with a glance at the other man that means he ain't listening to no more of his shit as he carefully cleans the tips of his bolts. "Don't have kids. Never saw that Graham kid 'fore today neither."

He can just see Gareth's mouth beginning to form words, heedless of his silent warning when he catches sight of Rick rising to his feet and ending up with an armful of Dylan after the young man sways in place.

Gareth's up and running to his leader, just as Daryl does, nearly dropping his crossbow on the floor in the process the second Rick looks over to him, calling for help as Dylan crumples in on himself, dragging Rick down with him.

"Rick!" Daryl calls out, voice just a little on the side of panicked.

"He's burning up." Rick says the second Daryl is within reach. Quickly, he wraps an arm around Dylan's torso, taking some of the weight off of Rick while Gareth crowds Dylan's form and lifts his head, peering into his face and asking him when was the last time he ate or slept.

"I'm fine." Dylan groans and weakly swats his hand away before it falls limp by his side.

"That wasn't my question, D." Gareth bites out, worried lines on his young face as he looks up at Rick then at Daryl. "You guys got an infirmary here or something close to it?"

Daryl shares a glance with Rick, the memory of the recent outbreak that dwindled their numbers still painfully fresh in their minds, a reminder of how they almost lost Glenn.

"Yeah, we do. Here, let me." Rick says and before anyone surrounding them, mostly members from the other group can so much as volunteer to help, Rick slots his arm under the back of Dylan's legs and lifts up the younger man against his chest in a bridal carry. Daryl resolutely stamps down the flare of jealousy he feels at seeing how effortless Rick seems to be carrying another full grown man in his arms. Like Dylan belongs there.

Oddly enough, the longer he looks as they walk towards the infirmary, following Hershel's hobbling figure, the sight eventually makes him think of the few times he'd seen Rick carry a sleeping Carl in his arms after his short shift at the guard tower, the kid only ever given the go ahead that he can keep watch, do his share, under the condition that he do so under the archer's supervision.

They arrive and enter the room, Hershel, Gareth and Daryl forming a circle around Rick as he quickly lays Dylan down on the center of the bed. Dylan's eyes are at half-mast and he's sweating something bad, eyes red-rimmed and dark circles under his eyes, suddenly so different from the smiling, laughing young man of earlier.

"I'm so sorry, Pa. We tried. But we don't know how to come back to ya and Dad." Dylan chokes out in a sob, clearly in the throes of hallucination going by the things that just came out of his mouth, addressing Rick as his _Pa_ , before his glassy-gaze moves to Daryl when he'd said _Dad_.

"Hey, it's alright." Rick says as he reaches out a hand to wipe the sweat off Dylan's forehead, and looking at Daryl every other second like he's making sure he really is there. It's surreal seeing his face on the bed looking like he's at death's door. He can only imagine what such an image is doing to his lover. "You're okay. You're gonna be fine."

Daryl walks further into the room and stands directly beside Rick, a grounding hand on his shoulder that Rick is quick to latch onto, squeezing hard enough to bruise before he takes a fortifying breath.

"He could be your brother, Daryl." Rick mutters helplessly. "I thought he could, you could-"

"I know, Rick."

Because of course Rick was thinking of what it would mean to Daryl to have a younger brother to care for, of a sister, to have a family that shares his blood. And how, he could very well be loosing another one right after he just so recently lost Merle.

"Shit." Gareth exclaims, like he's trying his damn hardest to not punch the wall in his frustration. "He said he got separated from Riley. Said he hopped onto our jeep when he saw us down the road, so he could have been walking before that. He said there'd been a herd. He could've been-"

"Bit." Daryl supplies with a sinking feeling as Rick works on taking off Dylan's jacket and shirt by Hershel's instructions, no doubt coming to the same conclusion he and Gareth did.

"We have to make sure." Hershel says gravely.

Daryl gets it. Because if Dylan is experiencing the same kind of medical condition that their people experienced a couple days back, then Dylan has a fighting chance at survival. Symptoms can be managed, fought. But if it is a walker bite, then there's no coming back from that.

He hears Rick suck in a gasp as soon as Dylan's shirt is off because there on his skin, like a fucking brand engraved to the side of his lower back is a walker bite, bright red and angry and mocking them all like a death sentence. There's also teeth marks that Daryl can see on the skin where neck meets the shoulder, although it doesn't look as bad as the one adorning his hip.

"Oh, no." Gareth says, his voice sounding like a small, wounded thing. "How am I gonna explain this to Riley."

The sudden sound of running feet and frantic shouting of _where the fuck is my baby brother_ breaks the somber mood that had swiftly choked the air around them like a vice. Hershel, Daryl and Rick's heads turn in unison towards the sound while Gareth rushes for the door just as a tall woman with generous dark curls framing a pretty face and a crossbow slung over one shoulder comes into view.

Daryl forgets to breathe for all of three seconds because Gareth had not been kidding. It feels like he's looking at Rick, or Rick's sister at least and fucking Christ, how is that possible, that these twins should look like Rick and himself when they're not even related to them.

Riley's eyes lock on his and the first word out of her mouth is a gasped out, _"Dad"_ before she looks over to Rick and stares like she can't quite believe who she's seeing.

She recovers quickly however the second she's got her sights on her brother and all but falls by his bedside, fingers entertwining with his and holding on.

"Hey." She starts, tears stinging her eyes as she rests their foreheads together and Daryl has to look away, feeling like he's intruding on something private.

"Hey, sis." Dylan replies with a small smile and a pained groan. "Sorry for the trouble."

"I thought I lost you. Don't scare me like that again." Riley shoots back whimpering, face burrowing onto Dylan's damp neck, her shoulders rising and falling as she inhales deeply. 

Dylan makes a noise that Daryl could only describe as a rumbling purr while Riley keeps her nose firmly pressed against his skin as if scenting him. Daryl looks up in mild confusion at the rather animalistic exchange and shares a glance with Rick. 

"Didn't mean to. M'sorry, got bit."

Daryl holds his breath, feels like they all are as they brace themselves for the woman's outburst. If she's as protective and loves her brother as much as every single one of their people says she does, then she's going to be inconsolable with the news and they'd probably need to restrain her before she lashes out in anger and heartbreak, hurting herself in the process.

And yet, she does none of what they expect of her.

"You're going to be okay." Riley tells her brother, nuzzling close and pressing thin lips against his brow, as if she's simply tucking him to bed, like she's not going to lose him permanently in just a few hours or less. "Just make sure you get plenty of rest little brother and you'll be good as new. I'll be here when you wake up."

The younger of the twins nod, explicit trust in the way his eyes droop and his face going slack now that his sister's beside him, knowing and confident in the knowledge that she's never gonna let anything bad happen while he sleeps.

They wait as Dylan's breathing evens out and Riley finally pulls herself from her spot on the floor, though she doesn't let go of her hold on her brother. Her blue-gray gaze sweeps from Gareth to Hershel and Rick before lingering on Daryl, and back to Rick again.

"Well." She begins and sends Daryl a look that pins him place and holy fuck, Gareth was right. 

Riley's eyes. They're his Ma's, the same color and shape that Daryl inherited from her. Seeing them yet again after so long that he hasn't seen them in a mirror only serves as a painful reminder why his Pa hated his guts to hell and back, unwanted memories of how his old man always took a sick sense of satisfaction in inflicting Daryl pain for the audacity of having his Ma's, _that cheating good-for-nothing whore's_ eyes. 

"I wasn't expecting this when I woke up this morning." Riley says, effectively pulling Daryl from his rapidly turning maudlin thoughts. She glances back to her brother then once more towards Daryl and Rick, her tear-filled gaze resolute. "We need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think at this point everyone knows who the alpha and omega is between the twins. Or uhh, not? Anyway, Riley is definitely alpha and Dylan the omega. Just love the idea of Older twin sister that looks like Rick but acts like Daryl be so protective of her omega little brother that physically takes after their Daddy Daryl and carry Rick's mannerisms and charisma and shitz. Haha. 
> 
> I know the Daryl and Dylan name might be confusing, please bear with it. Or did anyone want to have Dylan's name changed? It has to start with D though.And Riley, wanted to name her Raquel (Rickyl get it? Heeeh.) for the longest time, but decided against it. Now it makes me wanna give her the name. What do you guys think? Lol Darrick and Raquel? XD

**Author's Note:**

> To anyonee that left kudos, commented, subscribed and bookmarked, thank you so much. I'm fairly new to the fandom and wanna make fellow Rickyl fan friends.
> 
> Comments are food for the soul :D I love them and would like to hear your thoughts and what you think of the story so far. I gotta be honest, I'm an insecure little shit so I ain't past begging. Lol. And it would really be awesome to do a back and forth with y'all fellow Rickyl fans. 'Sides, it gets the creative juices flowing. Drop me a line :) I don' t bite.


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